Naked Truth (Crimson Romance) (6 page)

Twice. He was damned pleased about that, too. He got his rocks off by pleasuring the women he was with. Getting Kennedy off twice in the course of less than half an hour had been the headiest aphrodisiac he’d ever experienced.

“That’s good. Whoever you’re thinking about, it’s working. Now, do the moves again. It’s important to get the feel for dancing while you’re hard. The ladies like a hard dick better than a soft one. Try it again.”

Shit. Jack grimaced and adjusted his swollen cock. So he had to dance—with a hard on—and think about Kennedy. At least the last bit wasn’t exactly a tough assignment.

It surprised him to discover that he wanted to sleep with her again. He’d expected his initial interest to revolve around wanting to get her naked, have sex with her, and get her out of his system. But after they’d finished, it had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed not to climb right back into that limo with her and suggest they continue in the same vein back at the hotel.

When he’d gone back to the hotel a couple hours later, he’d even stood outside the door to her room, arm lifted, debating whether to knock. He’d figured she was asleep, though, and he hadn’t known her well enough to know how she would’ve reacted to him standing on her doorstep in the middle of the night. For all he knew, she’d wanted nothing more than a quick release as well, and she’d fully expected to act as if nothing had ever happened the next time they saw one another.

Which he was sorry to say hadn’t yet happened. The morning after the wedding, Kennedy had packed up her belongings and headed over to her parents’ house to brunch with them before going home to New Orleans. They hadn’t been on the same flight home, either. His fantasies about joining the Mile High Club hadn’t materialized.

For the duration of Cullen and Sabrina’s honeymoon, Jack had put in a ridiculous amount of hours, covering the jobs of two people instead of one. There’d been little time left for anything other than sleeping and eating.

Then there’d been that last-minute summons to help with the case in Houston, and even though he’d made it a point to start hanging out at Cullen and Sabrina’s as frequently as possible since returning from Houston, Kennedy had not done the same.

He’d have to rectify that situation soon he decided as he obediently danced for Lancelot again. He hadn’t gotten laid since the wedding, and a month was a long time to go without sex. Especially when you spent every damn night obsessing over the woman with whom you slept the last time. Damn it, he wanted to hook up with her again.

Maybe she was interested in having a fuck buddy. That would be perfect. Then he could just sleep with her as often as he wanted, for as long as he wanted, until he was finally over this slightly annoying … What was it, exactly, that he was feeling? An affliction? A problem? Was she a potential complication?

Jack didn’t usually get involved with women. He enjoyed women. He enjoyed sex. He occasionally enjoyed sex with the same woman for short spurts of time. But he did not obsess over them. He did not turn down opportunities with other women because he’d really rather be with one specific brown-haired lady with bright green eyes and a yen for sex in limos.

He did not come up with excuses to hang out with his partner and best friend on the off chance that a specific woman would happen to also be hanging out at his friend’s house.

It must be the sex. She’d been damned amazing; so open and inviting, so reactive to everything he did. For Christ’s sake, when had he ever forgotten to put on a condom? Never, that’s when. Even as an eager, desperate-to-get-laid teen, he’d still remembered the condom.

Yeah, he definitely needed to sleep with her again.

Lancelot clapped his hands and cut the music. “Okay, I declare you good enough,” he said with a sharp nod. “You’re still a little rough, but we’ll put you into the rotation toward the end. The ladies will be so liquored up by then that they’ll hardly notice. And you are definitely a sexy slab of beef, with an impressive package to show off, so that’s all they’ll be looking at anyway.”

Jack had never felt so damned demeaned in all his life.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Jack turned at the sound of the aggressive voice, instantly reaching for the gun that wasn’t there before catching himself and letting his hands drop to his sides. He followed Lancelot out of the small practice room and into the makeshift dressing room The dressing room was separated from the stage and the front of the club by temporary walls the revue set up to convert what was normally a dance club into a strip club.

He should have known Cullen was the reason for the dancer’s pissed off tone. His undercover partner strutted into the dressing room wearing a giant attitude and a black t-shirt underneath a black, loose-fitting unbuttoned collared shirt and a pair of black jeans. The loose-fitting shirt concealed the weapon that Cullen had flat-out refused to give up, despite the club owner’s protest that guns were strictly forbidden in his club.

“Somebody has to be armed,” Cullen had said. “And it sure as hell can’t be Jack. That thong isn’t big enough to carry a gun. Hell, it’s barely big enough to hold him in.”

Cullen was getting far too much enjoyment out of this assignment. Jack would have to figure out a way to exact revenge when this was over and done.

“I’m your protection,” Cullen declared now in a clearly mocking tone. “Since none of you pretty boys are able to protect yourselves.” He was solidly into his role as the angry, slightly jealous bouncer being forced to protect a bunch of male strippers from their own clientele.

“At least we need protection,” someone chimed out from behind a row of costumes hanging from an aluminum rack, “since we’re more likely to get laid.”

That comment was greeted with assent and chuckles of appreciation even as Jack thought,
not likely
. Cullen, since his wedding, was happier than Jack had ever known him, and he and Cullen had been partners for more than ten years.

Cullen ignored the comment and began pacing back and forth in front of the door that led out to the club proper. “I’ve been instructed that all you pansies are too wimpy to make it to your cars alone when the show’s over. My job’s to babysit you, both inside and out of the club. So don’t even think about leaving without an escort.”

The chuckles turned into grumbles and a few threats. One dancer even stepped forward, as if he intended to challenge Cullen. Cullen didn’t look the least bit fazed. Danny Diamond slipped into the room.

“His instructions come from me,” Danny announced, crossing his arms over his chest and planting his legs a shoulder’s width apart as he stood and glared at each dancer in turn.

“I’m sick and fucking tired of losing my dancers. You all represent a lot of money to me, and I don’t like to lose money. So you’re going to put up with the asshole guard, and you’re going to do whatever the hell he says, so that you all can come back here each night and make me more money. Got it?”

“What if he asks me to blow him?” That comment came from the back again.

Jack scanned the group, trying to determine who was the smartass. He spotted the one: a dancer who was on the short side but had massive pecs and arms the size of a large woman’s thighs. He wore a black cowboy hat and black leather straps tied around his biceps, and a pair of chaps covered his legs. Jack made a mental note to keep an eye on him. The loudest smartasses were usually the ones least likely to follow the rules. And his job, like Cullen’s, was to keep these guys alive. All of them. Smartasses or not.

Danny shrugged. “That’s your prerogative,” he said dismissively. “Just don’t fucking leave this club without an escort, got it?”

“I leave every night with an escort,” the smart-mouthed cowboy said. “But her tits are usually bigger than this guy’s.”

“Ranger, I’m going to kick your ass myself if you smart off again.”

Jack learned, throughout the course of the next several hours, that each of the dancers had a nickname, and it generally was tied to their show. Ranger, for example, was the Lone Ranger, and he strutted onto the stage, amidst all the smoke and strobe lights, to the call, “High ho, cowboy!” before the spotlight snapped to life and the song “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” blasted over the loudspeakers. Sweetspot danced to “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” Jack had no idea what Lancelot danced to. He didn’t even know what he was going to dance to, nor his nickname.

Danny and Cullen disappeared into the front of the club again, and a short time later, Jack heard Danny’s voice, booming across the loudspeakers, talking up the “Sparkling Hot Diamond Show” the ladies were in for tonight.

“You think diamonds are a girl’s best friend?” Danny cooed into the microphone. “Wait till you see my boys’ rocks!”

The club erupted into cheers, clapping, and catcalls, and Jack whipped his head around to look at Lancelot. “We’re stripping to nothing?” He hadn’t expected that.

“Nah,” Lancelot said as he did last minute stretches. “Danny just likes to tease them. If they hold out eternal hope, they spend more money. Oh shit!” he said as the chords to “It’s Raining Men” poured from the speakers. “I forgot to show you Raining Men. Well, just watch tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll get you in there. This is how the ladies get to preview the show, decide which one of us they like best. Okay—showtime!” Lancelot trotted out onto the stage, leading the procession of dancers dressed in their various costumes and falling into character almost as if there was a switch at the door. Suddenly, Lancelot was a sexy, tempting, exotic dancer. Ranger was charming and appealing. Sweetspot looked as if he intended to make it his mission to find every damn sweet spot in that room.

Jack stood at the door, watching the show. The group of dancers worked well together. The intro was obviously choreographed, and each dancer was given his fifteen seconds in the spotlight as the rest continued to move in unison behind him.

Women surrounded the stage. All sorts of women: young, old, everything in between. He saw bachelorette parties, noted by the tiaras and sashes the brides-to-be wore, proclaiming their status. Danny walked through the crowd, stopping by each bride-to-be in turn and, using his microphone, demanded each woman tell him which dancer she liked best. Jack knew this was a ploy so that the particular dancer she chose would focus on her during his show. The tips would be out of this world.

There was a birthday party in the crowd as well. The woman of honor wore a little black dress and a sash that proclaimed her “forty and fabulous.” She picked Ranger as her favorite dancer, and he responded with a few exaggerated hip thrusts in her direction.

There were small groups of women in their twenties and thirties, even a group of women who looked like stereotypical grandmothers, which made Jack shudder. Surely Mamaw didn’t still go to all male dance revues—if she ever did.

Women clearly traveled in packs to these sorts of things, he determined. There were precious few singles or even just two women standing together, apart from another crowd. Which meant if whoever was killing off dancers was here tonight, it was probably a woman, and she wasn’t working alone. He wasn’t sure if he bought that scenario, though. One of these women could be feeding information to someone on the outside. None of the killings had actually occurred inside any of the venues.

The first dancer started his solo routine, and Jack continued to scan the crowd, continued to watch for clues to the identity of a killer. Cullen, wandering through the crowd, was doing the same thing.

It occurred to him that he was glad he was the dancer and his partner was the security detail. There was always risk to their job, but in this case, Jack was literally putting himself out there as a decoy for a killer. His family would be saddened if something were to happen to him, but at least he wouldn’t be leaving a new bride behind. It was a sobering thought.

The evening wore on. There would be three sets of one-hour shows. The first one started at nine, with a group performance to “It’s Raining Men.” When that song ended, each dancer did his solo act, and the show ended with a group finale to “Whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin. After a thirty-minute break, the entire thing started over again. The final show ended at one. The dancers spent the last hour wandering about the club, flirting with the patrons and collecting more tips, and the doors closed at two.

In order to see the show, the ladies had to pay a cover at the door, had to buy at least one drink, and if they wanted to sit by the stage, they had to pay for that privilege as well. When the first show was over, those ladies seated next to the stage either had to pay again or move back to the bar to watch the second show from afar. It was a hell of a racket, and Danny Diamond was making a lot of diamonds running this show.

The person or persons killing off his dancers could be doing it for a lot of reasons, but the most likely were jealousy or money—or both. The day before, when Cullen and Jack interviewed him at the crime scene, Danny admitted that he often stole his dancers from his competitors, luring them with the promise of more money, more fame, and better working conditions. More than one competitor had gone under as a result. He was the self-proclaimed king of traveling all-male revues.

And now, it looked as if someone had decided to get revenge.

Jack made it through his first solo set with most of his pride intact. Lancelot had suggested he down two shots of whiskey first, to relax his inhibitions. It worked. Although he did catch Cullen, standing off to the side of the stage, trying to shoot a video of the act with his camera, but he was shaking so hard from laughter that Jack doubted he got a decent shot. Thank God.

When it was over, and the rest of the dancers were out on stage, doing the finale, Danny made his way to Jack’s side.

“Not bad, kid. If you ever get tired of the crime-fighting gig, I’d give you a permanent job.”

“Thanks, but I’m good. I don’t think I could sustain this lifestyle long term.”

Danny shrugged. “The take at the door is great tonight. Sold out all three shows already. The publicity, it turns out, is good for business.”